Potential. Not Yet.

At 13, I was probably around 5'5" tall and 135lbs or so. For every inch I grew taller, I grew two inches wider. My hair was blow-dryed and moussed until spiky. I had big framed, semi-tinted glasses. I had braces. What did I know? It was 1989.

The Prep was an imposing building. Jesuits are all about community service so the school is located in the heart of the Philadelphia ghetto of North Philly. The building itself, oddly enough, seems designed to let no one see out and no one see in. How's that for community? The classroom windows were at the very top of the wall right below the ceiling and barely a foot tall. So they let in some light. But it mostly was like going to school in a three-story bunker.

During our first week of school, a group of us were standing in a line on the corner of 16th and Girard waiting for the #2 SEPTA bus to take us home to South Philly, or Center City, or the train station, or wherever. A trolley went by and a group of young kids hung their heads out the window, yelling and screaming at us. Someone said, "they're from the school for bad kids. Don't mess with them." We stood there, waiting.

Suddenly, the group from the trolley turned the corner. They had gotten off at the next stop. They started going down the line taking money off of kids, stealing watches, tossing bags, instilling fear. One of them came up to me and lifted up the sleeve of my sports jacket, eyed my watch and then walked by. What? Didn't he want a Phantom of the Opera time piece? None of us said anything or moved a muscle at first. But then, as if on cue, we all ran down the block and back into the school. That half a block was as far as I had ever run and I was panting, but I was safe. Our parents were called to come pick us up.

I didn't care. This was better than grade school. I was surrounded by new people, which excited and terrified me, and there was theatre here! The entrance to the theatre was located right in the lobby of the building and if I was lucky enough to have Dad drop me off in the morning, I would walk in the main entrance and sneak into the theatre just to look at it. Intimate, red-bricked walls and a small stage, this is where my dreams of performing would come true. "Into the Woods", look out!

Imagine my surprise when I learned that the priest who was head of drama left the school. But..but...that's why I came here! I was going to star in musicals for him! I was going to be the person I always wanted to be by pretending to be different people! I had made friends with this priest, speaking with him after all three performances of 'Evita' we had come to see. Gone.

The Cape and Sword players had been taken over by a middle-aged English teacher by the name of Mr. Griffin. I didn't know him. When auditions were announced for 'Our Town', I wondered what kind of musical that was. Much to my dismay, it wasn't a musical at all. It was a play. An ooooold play. People standing around talking? So boring. Being on stage means singing! But I would audition anyway. There was talk of a musical in the Spring and I would have to be in that.

I was terrified when the audition day actually came around. I made my way into the theatre with my heart in my throat and my stomach churning. Other students were scattered throughout the theatre but no one I knew. Girls and boys giggled in groups together. I recognized some from the cast of 'Evita.' I recognized other boys from the hallways. But no one I knew. I made my way down the aisle and took a seat.

I must have signed up for an audition spot. I can't recall. I must have prepared something for the audition. I can't imagine what. Perhaps we had to read from the play; a speech of the Stage Manager's? That sounds right. I'm sure my body trembled as I stood downstage center proclaiming lines in my young voice over which I had no powers of modulation. I was always either extremely loud or quiet as a mouse. There was no in-between. And I was loudest when I was singing. It was like God had deposited a microphone in my voice box. Self-amplification.

So there I stood, center stage, script in one hand the other hand waving wildly butchering the words of Mr. Thornton Wilder. I wonder if my voice shook as hard as my leg most likely did. I probably adjusted my weight from side-to-side in an effort to stop from shaking or because I was nervous. This was my first time actually doing it. Outside of my bedroom. But there was no nuance. No drama. Just youth and fire.

I finished. Was that a smattering of applause I heard? In my head there was a roar; the relief of getting it over and done with.

I walked to the back of the theatre where Mr. Griffin was sitting. I stood by him as he talked to someone else. I snuck a look at his notepad. Under my name he had scribbled: Potential. Not yet.

My heart broke. I knew write then and there this was not to be My Town. I also knew there was a ton to learn. But tears in my eyes, I shook his hand and thanked him. I walked out the door and into the library. I had work study to complete.